


Paint Me

by bioticblackops



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Body Paint, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Painting, Porn With Plot, Smut, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticblackops/pseuds/bioticblackops
Summary: Illyrian wings are incredibly sensitive. So what happens when you decide to use them as canvas for a painting? Feyre decides to find out.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [femshepfit](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=femshepfit).



> For Jess, who told me to be brave and try something new.

"No." 

The word hung between them as it did every time Rhys posed this particular question and Feyre shot him down with varying shades of annoyance coloring her voice. Today it was calm if a bit exasperated. She didn't know why but his request had become a steady quest in the last few weeks, coming from his lips so often that it began grinding on her nerves. She didn't know why it had become so important to him and she didn't ask. Just like he didn't ask why she refused to give in.

Feyre could feel purple eyes focused on her, watching her every breath as she turned another page of her book. Even with his large wings half-folded beneath him he sometimes reminded her of a cat. The High Lord of the Night Court, nothing more than a kitten in need of attention and coddling. The thought made her smile. In the corner of her eye, she saw his eyebrows raise.

"You said you wanted to," Rhys said, for once not dropping the subject like he usually did.

"I did. Years ago."

"And still you haven't followed through with it."

Feyre let go of a suffering sigh, closing the book she had now given up on reading to look at her Mate instead. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed or amused as she looked at him, lounging on their bed and watching her in her favorite chair on the other side of the room. It was still early in the day. Early enough that they had a few hours until their first responsibilities, one of them getting dressed. As of now, her High Lord was lying on their bed, gloriously naked except for the sheets tangled around his legs. She'd originally gotten up to avoid waking him while she read, unwilling to leave their bedroom. Instead she'd curl up close by so she could switch between her book and watching him sleep. She'd successfully opened the novel when he started stirring and read about half a page until he'd asked that question again.

"So?" Feyre challenged, eying her Mate in a way that ought to tell him she had better things to do. Like reading the book she'd just gotten the other day. 

"So I think it's time you do," Rhys said, stretching his wings in a way that was more than a little distracting. The sun gave the sensitive membrane a red shimmer while throwing a delicate shadow over the bed and its inhabitant. 

"Rhys…"

"We still have," he checked the watch on the bedside table. "At least three hours until I have a meeting with Cassian and Azriel. That should be enough time for you to at least get started."

Feyre's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to rush you." He grinned that insufferable smug grin of his that she loved as much as it annoyed her sometimes. "Perfection takes its time."

Feyre rolled her eyes. His flickered from her to another corner of the room, fast but not fast enough that she didn't notice - just what he wanted. She followed his line of sight just to groan.

"Really, Rhys?"

"I thought I'd make it a bit easier for you." 

She was tempted to claim he never made anything easy but knowing it for the lie it was, she bit back the small frustration that this little game had become. In the corner of the room, tucked away in such an unobtrusive way that she hadn't noticed it the night before, stood one of her easels along with a palette of her travelling colors. It was the smaller set she'd gotten so she didn't have to heave all of her utensils from the garden to her studio to the roof whenever she felt like she needed a change of scenery. The last time she'd seen it, it had been in the kitchen where she'd tried out painting glass. It was something she still struggled with.

"Paint me, Feyre." There was something raw in his voice, something she hadn't heard for a long time. It tugged at her heart. It reminded her of a time that was behind them now, even if the shadows would always linger, no matter how long eternity promised to be.

Looking back to the bed, Feyre studied her Mate. Her eyes searched for the answer in his, watching that shadow she couldn't read cast a cloud over his impossible purple glance. She wanted to ask then, why this was so important to him, but something told her that he might not be ready to answer. Just as she wasn't ready to paint him again. Or tell him about all the times she did. 

But there was something she could do. Something she'd longed to do ever since they'd made love for the first time between all the colors of the rainbow in that cabin they still loved to visit. 

A smile began to creep over Feyre's lips and something in Rhys' eyes flickered when he saw it. Hope, maybe. Excitement, definitely.

"You really want me to paint you." Feyre echoed his earlier request. A nod was her only answer. Rhys had gotten very still on the bed as if he wasn't trusting the sudden possibility of his wish actually being fulfilled. It broke her heart that they'd gotten to this point, especially after sharing everything else in their lives. 

Feyre took a deep breath. "Alright."

Rhys blinked. "Really?"

With a curt nod, she got up from her chair to walk over to her paints. With her back to him, she studied the colors, the idea taking shape as she took stock of the brushes. There were still some new ones, unused and soft. Perfect for what she had in mind.

"How do you want me?" He asked in his silken voice, crawling over her skin like a soft breeze on a warm summer night. She ignored the double meaning in his words that had driven her mad in the beginning. Now, years later, instead of anger a whole different feeling curled in her gut whenever he spoke to her like this. She doubted she'd ever grow tired of it.

Still studying her utensils Feyre smacked her lips. "Just like you are right now. Stay on your back and relax."

An amused chuckle crawled not only over her skin but also down their bond. She could feel the delight and the … relief. Why was he relieved? She tried not to get distracted as she picked up the colors and brushes she'd chosen for her endeavor and carried them over to him. 

After all these years, her heart still clenched a bit when she saw her Mate in their bed, waiting for her with nothing but a smirk and some linens haphazardly wrapped around him. Purple eyes that promised her the night sky sparked even in the sun as the High Lord of the Night Court stretched leisurely before he settled down again. Feyre was tempted to say "to hell with it" and ravish him on the spot. 

Rhys grin widened and she noticed she'd stared at him. With a good-natured roll of her eyes, she dragged one of the bedside tables forward so she could place her tools on it. She opened some jars and tubes and gently put some of the colors on it, creating new ones in the progress. Rhys was silently watching her, his eyebrows almost vanishing under his hair. He really needed a cut, he began looking more like Azriel every day. Her lips twitched as she imagined what Mor would say if she'd bring up the similarity between her cousin and her lover.

"Don't you need canvas?" He asked after watching her mix colors for a while. Feyre just smiled.

"Close your eyes."

Rhys brows rose even higher but he obeyed, closing his eyes until his impossibly long lashes rested on his cheeks. Feyre bit her lip. Maybe she should really just get a canvas and paint him. With the light falling in through the windows, his wings shimmered almost as much as his tanned skin. His hair looked like silken darkness, alive in its own right. It was a sight to behold, impossible to forget. Something that should be painted so it was never forgotten. Even if for her own selfish reasons she never wanted to share it.

Which is why Feyre shook her head a bit and picked up a brush before settling on Rhys' hips. 

She could feel the surprise tickling along their bond before he even opened his eyes, staring up at her with a question written all over his features. Feyre smiled down at him, feeling the sudden warmth of his hands on her naked thighs, holding onto her.

"What did I say about your eyes?"

Rhys opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. Instead, he just swallowed and closed them again. If he had any inkling of what was about to occur, he didn't show it.

With a final look at the delicious picture in front of her, Feyre leant down a bit, very much aware that her hair tickled along his bare torso, before the tip of her paintbrush softly touched his right wing.

A strangled gasp was torn from her Mate, his hands gripping harder into the flesh of her thighs. She could feel his reaction all over: In the shudder of his breath, the tension of his shoulders, the shiver along their bond, the first awakening of his cock beneath the sheets. Her own breath hitched at his intense response to just the first of hopefully many strokes, the promise of the pleasure he was about to receive. 

Trying not to let herself get too distracted by her Mate's reaction, Feyre drew another long line along the fine membrane of Rhys' wing. It was harder than anticipated as he started to squirm, every line and dot seemingly making it harder to stay still. It didn't take long for his breath to become ragged, just as it didn't take long for his lengh to harden fully and press against her in the most distracting way. Only a thin sheet and even flimsier undergarments separated them. That and her iron will to finish what she had started. 

It was not the first time she'd played with Rhys wings but it was still rare for them to include them in their bedroom activities. Not all scars from the war were healed yet, even if they trusted each other more than themselves sometimes. That didn't mean they hadn't tried and done so in the past. But getting him to completion just by touching his wings wasn't something she'd ever achieved. Mostly due to the fact that at one point Rhys always lost control and decided that the need to touch her back outweighed all other needs. Feyre wondered if this time would be like that too. Maybe she should've strapped him to the bed. But that would definitely have let to something else entirely...

"Feyre." His voice was nothing more than a breathless rasp. His back arched from the bed, almost pressing his chest to hers. It was good that his fingers were still digging hard into her thighs or she might've lost her balance. His grip was hard enough that she might bruise but it was only fair, Feyre thought. A trade: Color on skin for color on skin.

"Shhh," she made, emphasizing her command with another broad stroke of her brush. "If you want me to draw you, you can't move around this much."

"You cruel, cruel, wicked thing," Rhys breathed. His broad chest was moving rapidly up and down as if he wasn't getting enough air. She was tempted to switch her canvas even if she wasn't done with the first part yet. It just looked so tempting. 

"Hm, you asked for it."

"I wanted you to paint me, not paint ON me."

"Semantics," Feyre claimed as she switched colors. 

Another stroke, another shiver. Rhys' whole body was taut, silently quaking in a way she hadn't witnessed before. Heat curled low in her body, making her squirm on top of him. Her own body screamed for friction, for something to match the pleasure she brought her Mate. For release. And oh, she would hardly need much. The sight of Rhys alone, barely able to breathe because of the intensity of his pleasure, was almost enough to bring her there. Almost, almost, but not quite. But it sure as hell gave her a warm memory for all the long and lonely nights in the future when her Mate couldn't be with her.

Feyre's movement drew another shuddering groan from her High Lord. She stopped, the need to bring him to completion just with her brush outweighing her own desires. With that, she also removed the friction she gave Rhys, something he desperately craved if his attempt to follow her was anything to go by.

"Cauldron, Feyre," Rhys cursed, his voice a plea. He tried to grind against her, to get back the pressure she withheld from him. Putting her weight fully on her knees she removed herself further from her Mate, drawing a frustrated moan from him.

"Please, Feyre. Please."

Feyre bit back the groan that threatened to come free with his pleading as she continued drawing on his wing. Having to lean down to reach a part further away from her had her hardened nipples brush against the naked planes of his chest. Her flimsy nightgown was hardly able to hide her reaction to him. Calloused hands travelled to her ass, trying to convince her to press down on him again.

"Rhys, you make concentrating very hard right now."

"I…" He choked on whatever he wanted to say. A swirl of color higher up on his wing took away every ability to think or speak. Instead, his back arched from the bed again his breath so unsteady Feyre began to worry. The movement pressed his length against her heat again, drawing a soft gasp from her. She could feel the throb through the cloth, realising Rhys was already closer than she expected. It was becoming harder and harder to stay on top of him. She had an inkling that it was only because Rhys tried to hold back and let her do whatever she wanted, otherwise he might've already finished their game the way he usually did. Or he might really be lost in sensation this time.

Putting the brush she'd used behind her ear, she picked up another, more delicate one from the nightstand. Instead of dipping it into the color palette, she instead used the colors already on his wing, making sure to press down hard enough so the soft tip caressed the membrane beneath. 

A strangled sound was her reward as well as a taut feeling taking hold of their bond. She felt more than saw Rhys slowly lose control. Bits of darkness began crawling up her legs, reacting to and caressing her in a way that let her know it was as much part of her as part of the male beneath her. Despite the heat and desperation radiating from him, it was a soft embrace that spoke only of love. The darkness of lovers, Rhys had once called it. By now she knew it like a second skin. Knew it well enough to realise what might happen any moment now. She just needed to figure out the final strokes to get him there.

Rhys shook under her, the sensation of the brush becoming too much, even if it just lingered. Feyre's eyes wandered over his wing, contemplating. It didn't take long to find a part that was still gloriously void of any color. A small spot she knew any touch would have a big effect on her Mate. She didn't think twice before lowering her brush to the small piece of membrane right next to where his wing almost met his back, the most sensitive area on any Illyrian's wing as she'd found out firsthand. 

All it took was one small flick of her wrist, nothing more than a soft curl. Darkness exploded into the room just as Rhys back arched one last time into a sensual bow that she'd have given anything to draw right this moment if the pure sensation of her Mate's climax hadn't washed down the bond, flooding every sense she had until she was drowning in her own unexpected orgasm. 

Stars exploded in front of her eyes. Feyre didn't know if it was because of the waves of pleasure crashing down on her or the darkness Rhys' climax had summoned. She couldn't hold the thought long enough to care. The brush in her hand clattered to the floor as her fingers found Rhys' shoulders, holding on to him as if she was afraid to get lost in the current. The feeling of his hands on her was almost drowned out by the darkness surrounding her, covering every single inch. The lines of where her pleasure ended and Rhys' began were blurred, non-existent.

It took her a long time to resurface from the depths her orgasm. Longer even to realize that it had been Rhys' who'd shared it, wittingly or unwittingly, through their bond. When she did, Feyre found herself lying on top of her Mate, Rhys' heart beating in the same hard and unsteady rhythm as hers did beneath her ribs. He looked completely dazed, his eyes unfocused and his breathing unsteady. Noticing her attention, he looked down, giving a hoarse chuckle.

"Well, that was … different," he rasped, voice raw as if he'd screamed for a long time.

"Was it ok?" Feyre asked, suddenly unsure given they had never actually spoken about doing something like this. She made fun of Rhys' protectiveness of his wings but given their history, given what had happened during the war, she could hardly blame him. But those worries all came a bit too late.

Feeling the dread taking hold of his High Lady, Rhys gave her a bright smile that reminded her of starlight and lowered his face to give her a soft kiss.

"Do you really need to ask?"

The tension bleed out of Feyre and she relaxed back onto his chest. Meanwhile, Rhys studied his painted wing, a slow smile creeping onto his lips as his eyes traced the dark swirls in different shades of black, blue, and purple.

"The night sky, huh?"

"Well, there would be stars but someone," she poked him in the side, making him wiggle. "Didn't give me the time to add them. Or even start on the second wing."

"I was a tad distracted."

"I noticed."

"And to be fair, I asked to be painted, not to be painted on. Don't blame me for getting distracted. And don't think you're off the hook."

The smile on Feyre's lips dimmed a bit, her eyes leaving Rhys' face to study the painting she had drawn on him instead. Feeling her mood shift, Rhys tried to catch her glance. She avoided it as she steeled herself for something she should've told him ages ago. 

"Feyre?" This voice was as soft as the warm brush against her shields, asking to let her in again. 

"Why is it so important to you that I draw you?" She asked, still not looking at him. Rhys went still below her. His answer took so long that she turned back to him, searching his eyes. This time it was him avoiding her glance.

"Thought for a thought?" She asked and earned a small smile, just as she'd hoped. Looking back at her, he took a deep breath.

"It's ridiculous, I know but … you painted him. You never painted me."

Him. She didn't need to ask whom he meant. There was only one him he could ever refer to, one person that would always be a shadow in their past no matter how many years passed. There were a lot of things regarding Tamlin Feyre could never change, could never take back to ease her Mate's mind. She knew that. But this, this was actually something she could change.

"I did paint you, you know? Dozens of times. Hundreds of times. More."

Rhys just stared at her, confusion plain on his face. 

Feyre licked her lips, trying to find the words that had been a long time coming. 

"When I went back with him, I tried to pretend everything was normal. It was … not easy. There were many eyes on me, all the time, watching and waiting for me to take one wrong step. So I tried to get back into old habits to be less suspicious, even if I didn't feel like doing so."

"Like painting," Rhys guessed. 

"Like painting," Feyre confirmed, fingers drawing small, distracted patterns on the skin below her. 

"It wasn't unusual for me to lock myself into my drawing room for hours on end to paint so he didn't question it. Nobody did. It gave me an excuse to be alone, to think, to plan. To paint." She took a deep breath. "To pain you, specifically."

Rhys' eyebrows rose, his throat bobbed but he stayed silent.

"At first, I just added parts of you in mundane paintings. The color of your eyes, the soft darkness of your hair, the pattern of your tattoos, the shadow of your wings, the shape of your lips. They were small enough, unobtrusive enough that nobody noticed. It … helped. It made me feel closer to you. Less alone."

Rhys' arms found their way around her, drawing her even closer to him. He didn't say a word, knowing she wasn't finished yet. 

"After some time, it wasn't enough anymore. The bits and pieces. I missed you so much I … I started to paint you. Truly paint you. I have lost count how many times I drew your face just so I could look at you and pretend, just for a single moment, that you were with me."

This time, the shudder in his breath was for a very different reason than before. Even years later, the time apart still lay heavy on them. Everything they'd given and suffered during the war, everything they'd sacrificed … Some wounds didn't heal easily and their separation was one of them. 

Feyre's fingers found her Mate's face, slowly tracing the conjures of his cheekbones as if she was painting them. She knew she needed to finish the story. Needed to tell him everything, to make him understand why exactly she'd shied away for so long to fulfil his wish while also having done so countless of times without him knowing about it.

"I knew what I was doing was stupid and dangerous but I couldn't stop."

"What did you do with the paintings?" Rhys quiet voice was nothing more than a whisper at midnight, at odds with the sun shining through the window now that his darkness had vanished. 

Feyre smiled. "I painted over them. Stupid little things, mostly. Landscapes, bowls of fruit, flowers. Sometimes Tamlin to please him."

Rhys choked. His face was a mixture of shock, horror, and amusement.

"You painted Tamlin over me?"

"Well, at least like this there was something worthwhile on the canvas, even if it was hidden."

"So let me get this straight, you added me, parts of me, to some of the pictures you painted while being part of the Spring Court?"

"Not some, Rhysand. All of them. There is not one picture that doesn't have a part of you in it. Not one painting that doesn't show, or hide, something of you. Every single picture I drew in the months I was trapped there, is a portrait of you. Every single one."

The incredulous look on Rhys' face almost made it worth not telling him for so long. Feyre smiled a timid smile.

"So you see, I did paint you. More than any other motiv. The reason why I haven't done so since then is … it still reminds me of the time when the paintings of you were all I had. When they were the only way I could be close to you. And even while you would be there when I painted you this time, I'm not quite ready to do so. I hope you understand."

Mirroring her touch, Rhys' hand found her cheek, softly brushing is thumb over her lips.

"Take all the time you need, Feyre. We have an eternity together. I can wait." 

Suddenly, that insufferable smirk that had her want to throttle him in the beginning appeared on his lips. 

"Besides, it helps to know that parts of me are placed all over the Spring Court and Lucien doesn't have a damn clue about it."

Despite trying to, Feyre couldn't help the sudden heat creeping into her cheeks. She tried to move her head to use her hair as a curtain between them but Rhys saw right through her manoeuvre and held onto her cheek.

Amusement was still dancing in his eyes as well as understanding that there was still a bit of information she was holding back.

"Something you want to tell me, Feyre darling?"

"Well, ah, do you remember that painting Tamlin hung on the wall of the dining room? The big one with the fruits?"

He nodded, waiting.

"And you remember I sometimes included just … parts of you? Sometimes in an abstracted form?" 

Unwillingly, her eyes flickered down to a part unseen between them before returning to Rhys' face. The High Lord of the Night Court was simply staring at her, mouth hanging open. Feyre felt like her whole face was on fire. She wondered if she should just winnow away before he-

"Are you trying to tell me," Rhys started, clearly trying to hold on to at least some composure. "That there is a picture of my penis hanging in Elain and Lucien's dining room for everybody to see?"

"Not a picture of your penis! Just … part of it? Before I changed some things to make it look like a very big … banana."

For a long moment, Rhys just stared at her. And then he completely lost it. The laughter rocking him was almost strong enough to make her tumble from his heaving chest. He laughed so hard, tears began running down his face while Feyre's cheeks burned even harder. She wanted to swat him, to tell him it wasn't that funny, but even without the pure, unrestricted joy rocking their mating bond, it was hard not to be infected by the unadulterated delight the High Lord of the Night Court was radiating. 

Feyre buried her face in his trembling chest, waiting for Rhys to get a grip on himself. It took a very, very long time. Even after he'd stopped roaring so loud she'd fear the neighbors might hear it despite their magically sound proved townhouse, his lips still quivered as he tried to suppress another fit of laughter spilling over them. She'd probably be annoyed if she didn't quietly enjoy seeing him this happy. 

Voice still full of mirth, he gently nudged her until she raised her eyes to him. Violet sparkling with mischief greeted her. 

"Say," Rhys began, obviously trying to hold back another fit of chuckles trying to break free. Feyre already feared the worst before he even finished. "Didn't Elain and Lucien invite us over for dinner?" 

A pillow to his face was her only answer. She could still hear him laugh beneath it and didn't try to hide her own smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try in a non-BioWare related fandom so I'm very sorry if the voices are not quite right. Since English is not my first language, please feel free to point out any weird mistakes I might have made. I would much appreciate! Comments and criticism are very welcome! Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it.


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